Oh ancient one,what have you seenin your centuries?Silent witness,traveller from the past,you have enduredwhen others fell.

Grandfather,show me your scars.A year is just a fleeting beat,you measure time by the cataclysm.FIRE!Raging tempest of searing heat.Cruel death!to those of blood, and lesser wood.You wince, but you remain.

Sweetsings the peaceof the interlude . . .

The rhythm of your lifeis like the cadence of the surf–crash of angry foam,gentle repose between.Wash away!those that cannot stand.